Temptations of the Wicked
by Natmonkey
Summary: Sebastian Vael can't sleep; a certain Champion is keeping him from it. Will prayer save him from his sinful thoughts?


_**If you don't like reading about guys doing it, turn back now.**_

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Sebastian Vael prays fervently to the Maker and Andraste whenever he can. His salvation depends upon it. If he has learned anything from his time in the Chantry, it is that the feelings that his treacherous mind is making him suffer are profoundly, utterly, absolutely wrong. And yet… Half aware of the goofy expression on his features, but wholly unable to prevent it, he contemplates the object of his affection. The handsome face, always adorned with a charmingly lopsided grin. The dazzling eyes, continually shining with kindness and mirth. The beautifully shaped mouth, the lips possessing a decidedly velvety look. The easy grace of his movements, despite his muscular frame. Vael groans, knowing without having to look down that his robes are tenting around a certain part of his anatomy. Damn that Hawke.

The brother kneels before the gargantuan statue of the Maker's sacred bride in the Chantry hall and bends his head in prayer. "Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide." His lips mechanically form the words, but his mind is far from the Chant. "I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond." He can almost feel Hawke's lips on his, the man's tongue snaking into his mouth. "For there is no darkness in the Maker's light and nothing he has wrought shall be lost." A strong, skilled hand slipping into his smalls and roughly stroking his cock until he comes. Sweet Andraste, it's no use! There is only one thing he can do.

His Highness strides to the conveniently deserted bedchambers. His hand flies to his groin, stroking his rock-hard cock through rough fabric. "Maker, though the darkness comes upon me…" A low growl falls from his lips. "I s-shall embrace the light." Not content with this slight stimulation, the prince slips his hand into the folds of his robes and firmly grips his length. "I shall weather the... the storm," he chokes out, fingers dancing along his rigid flesh. "I shall endure." Oh, will he? Hawke is making it awfully difficult. "What you have..." Vael bites back a particular loud groan as he recalls how he had once paid the Champion a visit at his mansion. Maker's breath, that body of his as he had stalked to his bedroom dripping wet and glistening! What he wouldn't give to run his tongue down those spectacular abs. His grip on his rod tightens. "What you have c-created, no one can tear asunder." The thought of Hawke bending him over and ruthlessly pounding his cock into him pushes the prince over the edge. He finishes with a chorus of desperate moans, hot seed trickling down his hand.

Vael absently cleans himself up, his muddled brain wrapped in worry. Why is he so attracted to that man anyway? Hawke is very good-looking, but so are many others. They have known one another for years now; somewhere along the way, the brother has fallen hard for the intrepid adventurer. The Champion is kind, humorous, righteous. That shouldn't inspire such lascivious thoughts in him, should it? Yet it does. What a mess. The sinful thoughts of Hawke aren't the only issue he is dealing with either. Those that have murdered his family are dead, but it didn't end there. After all, they were little more than a tool in the hands of the Harrimans. He owes much to his handsome friend, not only having dispatched the mercenaries of the Flint Company, but also having helped him take out Lady Harriman and her demon.

So what is he to do now? Stay with the Chantry and abandon his birth right, or take back Starkhaven and take his place as its rightful ruler? Neither was something he had wanted in the past and he isn't sure whether he wants the latter now. The priest-prince cradles his aching head in his hands and winces in dismay. He doesn't know which is worse: having to deal with the Chantry vs. Starkhaven dilemma, or wanting the Champion so badly.

It is so strange. During his days of mindless fun and pleasure, Vael never once thought he might fancy another man like this. He had tried it, to be sure, but it simply didn't seem his cup of tea. Oh, but Hawke is a cup of tea he would love to drink in, every last little drop of him. Vael licks his lips at the thought, then shakes his head and heads back to the hall. How incorrigible he is. Time to pray some more. Time to pray _a lot_.

~*|'-'|*~

"O Maker, hear my cry." Several days later Vael is still at it, unable to drift off to sleep in the dead of night. "Guide me through the blackest nights." Still no use; he can't stop thinking of Hawke. "Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked." The wide expanse of his chest, his beautifully muscled arms, his delightful laugh. Maker's breath, that laugh! "Make me to rest in the warmest places." He knows a warm place he would like to rest. In bed, snuggled up to Hawke after a long, hot session of... Sigh. Once again he piously folds his hands, knowing full well that prayer does fuck-all to aid him in his plight. A slight rustle catches his attention; he turns around to face it.

"What are you still doing up?" asks a deep voice, the words ringing loudly through the quiet, empty Chantry. The speaker steps from the shadows. "Shouldn't you be in bed?" A gleaming white smile appears in the shade of his hood.

"Oh, Hawke…" The sound of his visitor's voice is making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end and his cock strain against his smallclothes even harder. "What brings you here at this time of night?"

Hawke shrugs, pulling back his hood. "Couldn't sleep." He approaches Vael, who unconsciously takes a step back. The insomnia must have lasted several days already, judging from the black circles under the Champion's eyes.

"What's troubling you?" asks the prince, despite his own troubles. The chuckle that Hawke utters in response has him suppressing a pleasurable shiver. "You don't have to tell me if-…" Suddenly he finds his back pressed against Andraste's pedestal, a powerful hand resting on his chest.

"Why, _you_ are, of course." Hawke's face is so close to his, their noses are almost touching. "I could just drown in your beautiful eyes," the man murmurs. There is a look of infinite fascination in his.

Vael blinks, not quite believing of what is happening to him. "I-I'm sorry, what?" His heart – that vile little traitor – soars with hope. This can't be true, can it?

"You heard me." The grin on the Champion's lips is enough to make the coldest lady swoon; imagine His Highness then, trying his hardest not to faint dead away. "Can I perfectly honest with you?"

His Highness tries to smile, but fails. "Always." His stomach is twisting itself into a thousand little knots, his knees all atremble.

"Good." Never taking his hand away, Hawke bores his piercing gaze into his companion's. "Varric may think there's nothing interesting about you, but I think he's wrong." His fingers break into stroking motions and Vael is absolutely sure that his heart will vibrate out of his ribcage at any moment. "You intrigue me, Sebastian." It gets even worse as Hawke softly brushes his lips against his. Just as velvety as they look. "Your lips, your eyes, your scent." He buries his face in Vael's neck and takes a deep, deep breath. "And your voice! I get so awfully hot during your sermons, did you know that?" There is a fire burning in those mischievous eyes of his. "I find myself a quiet spot in the back, close my eyes and think of all the things I'd like to do to you." Hawke growls, sweeping the prince's length with his gaze. His grin turns into a smirk. "You want me too, don't you?"

Tongue-tied and stunned from these revelations, His Highness nods. His lower jaw is nearly on the floor from shock. "Yes, Hawke," he finally manages to whisper weakly. "You have no idea how much."

"Oh, I think I do," replies the Champion with a chuckle. "You'll see. You know, I've been thinking." His proximity is making the brother sweat profusely. Little beads form on his forehead.

"A-about what?" Vael bites his lip, still unable to prevent the escape of a tiny whimper at the lightest touch of the Champion's mouth at his sensitive neck.

Hawke's tongue darts out and elicits another whimper, decidedly louder now. "About you, ruling Starkhaven." His velvety lips press a kiss below the prince's left ear. "Think about it, Sebastian." Another kiss, slightly lower. "The prince of Starkhaven…" Kiss. "And the Champion of Kirkwall." His voice flows like honey, his kisses send sparks down his spine. "There is nothing we couldn't do together." Those lips have now reached the soft hollow at the base of the prince's throat, driving him positively crazy with need and desire. "There is only one thing you need to do…" Here Hawke abruptly cuts away from him, forcing Vael to open his eyes.

"What's that?" whispers His Highness. No longer feeling Hawke's touch against his skin is nigh unbearable. He will do anything, anything to get it back.

"Give yourself to me."

There is nothing that Vael would rather do. Forget his vows, forget how vehemently the Chantry condemns his feelings for his fellow male. So he grabs the Champion by the collar and crushes his yearning lips to his. Hawke promptly conquers his companion's mouth, their tongues caressing one another with great fervour. The Champion's battle-marked hands immediately get to work on rough Chantry robes. They are soon pooled around the brother's feet, leaving him very little in the way of clothing. The prince doesn't feel the cold, even though his skin breaks out in goose flesh. He is also perfectly aware of the fact that they might get caught at any moment, but right now, he couldn't care a jot less. Hawke's fingers sneaking down his smallclothes are distracting him anyway.

His Highness moans unabashedly into Hawke's mouth as those fingers begin their labour, stroking, teasing and squeezing. His own hands aren't idle either; they quiver as they undo the various clasps and buckles that prevent him from touching muscular shoulders and sculpted chest. Vael is unable to stifle a delighted sigh as the obstacles finally fall away. The Champion smiles at this and gently pushes his lover away. Tracing the outline of the prince's lips, he says: "Go on. Show me what you can do with your mouth." There is a tone of authority in his voice that Vael cannot disobey.

Not that he would want to. He kneels before his Champion, reluctantly, because he is unsure of what to do. Perhaps to open his trousers first. The man's arousal shows clearly in his fancy Hightown shorts and it is very large. The prince gulps. The last and only time he was with another man, he was in Hawke's position. A good position to be in too. Vael decides to simply follow his instincts. These tell him to tease his handsome friend first, by softly kissing his hard cock through the fabric. This action occasions a cross between a groan and a chuckle, then an encouraging little pat on the head.

A proud warmth growing in his stomach, the prince pulls down Hawke's shorts. The organ hidden within cheerfully jumps out at him. Seeing it outlined in silk does not compare to seeing it in the flesh at all. Vael swallows away a lump in his throat. He is impressed. Thoroughly impressed. And dying to know what it tastes like. His tongue hesitatingly runs up the velvety length before his lips close around the gleaming pink tip. The fulfilment of his naughty daydreams has His Highness groaning with pleasure, eyes shut. Hawke groans right along with him when his lover swallows him a bit further. The Champion's fingers weave through the prince's brown locks. "Good boy," the man purrs, his silken voice thick with arousal. "Use your tongue." The unflinching obedience with which Vael complies brings forth a delighted chuckle from Hawke. "Very nice... Now just a little deeper..."

Although it is nigh impossible not to gag, the prince is becoming painfully aroused at Hawke pushing his face closer to his groin. Never had he thought he would surrender himself like this – never mind _enjoy_ it – but here it is. Head slowly bobbing up and down, he pleases his partner to the best of his abilities. His tongue swirls around the rigid flesh; he gently sucks, making sure not to use his teeth. Hoarsely the Champion demands: "Open your eyes and look at me." The sight that greets His Highness only increases the delicious aching in his gut. The rosy blush on that handsome face, the unmistakable enjoyment in those gorgeous eyes… After a seeming eternity of revelling in the happy noises Vael is coaxing forth with his mouth, Hawke eases him off his cock. "Such a good boy you are," he coos, cupping the prince's spit-slicked chin and stroking his lower lip. "Let me give you a reward." Finger crooked invitingly, he beckons the priest-prince to follow him. Vael can't help staring amorously at the movements of his Champion's powerful muscles as he walks close behind him.

It feels perfectly natural to His Highness, to follow Hawke's instructions without question and sitting himself down on the pew indicated to him. The pitted, well-worn wood feels cold against his heated skin. An uneasy feeling settles in the pit of his stomach when the Champion places himself between his legs, his knees supported by the kneeling bench. The man's fearsomely large organ rests against Vael's inner thigh. It gives a little twitch from time to time.

The prince reaches out his hand and runs his fingertips along its endless length, chuckling at the enthusiasm it displays in jerking against them. Then Hawke distracts him with a deep, passionate kiss once more and he melts into his friend's mouth. Hands eagerly explore and caress. Vael starts at the sudden and hitherto unknown intrusion of two naughty fingers massaging his entrance. When exactly the other man has managed to do that is anybody's guess, but those fingers are slick with oil; they gain easy access. The – in that sense, at least – untouched prince marvels at the novel sensation. His hips wriggle impatiently as the dextrous digits move back and forth.

However, they soon slip out of him; something very big and hard prods at their former resting place and the uneasy feeling turns to full-blown fear. Hawke shows him a kind smile; an affectionate hand strokes Vael's cheek. "Don't worry." A slight push provokes a sharp bite of pain. "You'll get used to it." The Champion slowly but surely takes possession of his now no longer virgin hole. His Highness' breath is taken away. His world is filled with blinding, searing agony. Nothing else. At long last Hawke is buried in his prince to the hilt, his pelvis resting against Vael's behind.

Hawke lovingly wipes away the tears rolling from tightly shut eyes and brings relief with tiny kisses along the other man's collarbone. "Poor baby," he drawls, bringing forth a tortured cry with a teasing roll of the hips. "Hurts so good, doesn't it?" Vael is just about to protest that there is nothing good about it, but the pain… It is making way for intense pleasure, the likes of which he has never felt before. Another tentative thrust and cries of an entirely different kind echo through the empty halls. His Highness is quickly reduced to a moaning puddle of sensitive nerves as Hawke begins fucking him in earnest. That delectable friction is going to drive him mad!

The priest-prince cranes his neck to offer the Champion his lips. The man graciously accepts this gift. While they devour one another's mouth as if dying from hunger, Vael quickly finds out that Hawke's marvellous cock hits him even deeper with just the slightest tilt of his pelvis. And if he thought the friction alone was good, well, throwing a highly skilled hand stroking his stiff cock into the mix makes things almost _unbearably_ good. Add to that the passionate dance their tongues are performing and the poor prince is just about ready to explode. The pressure in his gut mounts. His thoughts become decidedly hazy. It gets worse with every single delicious thrust.

Hawke tightens his iron grip on His Highness' pulsing rod. "Are you going to come for me?" The desperately nodded response provokes another lopsided grin. "Good, because I'm coming too." And so, with one final powerful shove, the Champion stuffs his prince's tight ass with a big helping of his cum. It is the most exquisite thing Vael has ever seen and heard. It is, in fact, so utterly bewitching that his own impending climax is pushed back. He watches Hawke squeeze his beautiful eyes shut, his muscles pulling themselves taut as his frame stills completely. An impossibly sexy growl sounds from between his parted lips. Only when Hawke has opened his eyes and shown his lover a lazy smile, will his own finish no longer be denied. With a series of blissful moans, the prince sends pearlescent drops of seed flying all over his torso.

The lovers, spent and satisfied, lay themselves down on the battered pew. They have no choice but to huddle very close together on this small surface. Neither of them minds very much at all. Hawke pulls Vael into his embrace, where the rightful ruler of Starkhaven closes his eyes and utters a content sigh. Snug as a bug in a rug, tightly wrapped in his beloved Champion's strong arms. It's true; there is nothing he can't do at Hawke's side. Now he may rest, but tomorrow… Tomorrow Starkhaven will be theirs for the taking. While sweet slumber descends upon him, a certain portion of the Chant of Light comes to mind. A smile curls Vael's lips as the words repeat themselves in his mind over and over again.

_You are the fire at the heart of the world and comfort is only Yours to give._

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_OOC and stuff, I know. Just enjoy the smut. Bioware didn't even throw in some suggestive scene for this fellow. For shame.  
_


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